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Monday, March 19, 2012

A Passion Killer

I am Colinus Maximus Smilyus, commander of whomever comes within my reach. Gorgeous son to a mother, fantastic son to a father, fabulous brother to a sister, and I will have my word on this blog or another.

And as I said, hear my words, for I have some news for you. Good news and extremely good news. Followed by actions.

The good news is that I see a clear tendency in having the retirement age set to 70 and beyond. This is fantastic, I wish I could vote and express my gratitude to this government. What could be better for the people of my generation than to be released from the pressure of supporting the elders? Excellent move, chapeau.

The extremely good news is that they reduced the age at which one can get his driving licence. It's seventeen now but I reckon that I'd be correct in thinking that it'll become sixteen by the time I'll need one. O h M y G o d! Can you believe this? Sixteen, wow, I can hardly wait to see that happen. That's not a great age to legally drive a car, that's the golden age! Imagine taking your sweetheart out to a romantic ride outside the city, where the stars are out and you can show her the brightest one of the Ursa Minor, the Northern Star. And, not coming out of the car, tell her that she's your immutable star and for a while she'll sign her love letters with Polaris and you'll love that and take her to another ride outside the city to see the stars again and then you're in great luck, it's raining outside, no starry thing to talk about. What? What do you mean by you need to have someone next to you who's got at least 8 years of driving experience? But that would be awkward, to say the least, when it comes to showing the stars, wouldn't it? Come on, that's for wimps, when you're sixteen you won't fall for it, will you?

All in all, excellent news! Especially the one with the driving licence. However (I hate when this word curbs my enthusiasm!), I heard something that set me on a deep investigation. I heard my dad talking to my mom about it. They used many words, but the gist of their conversation was this:

"You know", my mom began, "imagine how many discussions we'll have with Colin (again, this is me!) about getting a driving licence. And then asking for the car, and we'll have to say no, but we won't be able to do that forever. That'll be some piece of concern!"

"Well, I know how to deal with that. It's great that they could have the licence at 16. All we need to do is to buy an ugly and unpopular car. Comfortable but not fashionable. He will never ask for it, it won't be cool or whatever word they'll use by then".

This last remark made me look around to see what my dad was talking about. In the end, a car is a vehicle (I have my vocabulary with me today, I know), created for the purpose of locomotion (ahem!). It needs some wheels, a good engine, and an easy way from behind the wheel to the back seat, in case it's raining outside. And above all, how ugly could a car be?

Boy, I'm still in a state of shock. I started off with the assumption that there'll be very few choices for my dad that I will find not attractive to drive at 16, but the reality contradicted me heavily.

First of all, if he decides to import a real American car, I'm screwed. Any one, blindly and randomly picked. Luckily, my dad hates competition, and another heavy drinker around will not make him feel at ease. Well, this made me feel a little better, and I moved to the European ones. I left out the Italian cars, as they are fashionable by definition, and I began with the German ones. Nothing, zilch, nada. All of them were nice looking, some were even very beautiful. No danger there. What about the English automobiles? Hm? You mean there's none? All bought out? They're Germans now? OK, that's been checked, it's fine by me. French? Well, they are more or less like their wine: some tasty, some get you drunk. No real danger there either.

And just when I thought I was quite safe, I saw it. Again, assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups. Who would have thought that? Right in the middle of the whole fashion empire lied my enemy. I will never be able to drive that car and still have any crumbs of my dignity left. I'll be the subject of all mockeries in the high school, even the nerdest of the nerds will look more popular than me. And even if, by an unexpected miracle, I manage to get someone to show her the stars, it'll do me no good to have a raining day: that car will succeed to annihilate any attempt for my hormones to play a joyful ping pong game.